


New Kid in Town

by Kanhtoennohva



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Yugotalia- Fandom
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, F/M, Manipulation, Original Character(s), Some angst, basically all of yugotalia is female, but that's as far as that deviates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7057660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanhtoennohva/pseuds/Kanhtoennohva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kosovo is a young, independent nation, and needs to be shown the ropes after being on her own for the first time. She can always trust Albania, who's been by her side for what feels like forever. Yet she also finds a friend in Romano, even though she's never seen him before. In a world of politics, where nobody's true intentions are known, it's hard to be the new kid in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Independence

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a Kosovo x Romano fanfic, taking place just after Kosovo gains independence in 2008. This is co-written by myself and my friend Blake, so the author switches every other chapter (I write first). As it is my first fanfic, constructive criticism is definitely welcome!  
> In this universe, all the Yugotalia nations are female, but that's as far as it deviates from the source material. You don't have to necessarily know Hetalia to read this, but it will probably help.  
> There are some OCs (Albania, the Ottoman Empire, and I suppose Yugotalia as a whole). Also, due to our differing writing styles, the perspectives change for each chapter, so I write my chapters from Kosovo's, while Blake writes from Romano's.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

 “We, the nations of the world, declare Kosovo to be a completely independent nation.”

Germany’s words were music to my ears.

Ever since the day that Slovenia left Serbia’s house, I knew I could do it too. I could gain independence, and be my own nation, with nobody else to tie me down. Not without going through hell and back, but it could still be done.  And after many late-night talks with Albania, away from anyone else’s prying eyes, poring over countless eligibility documents, it was done.

I’m finally an independent nation.

The announcement brings applause from the other countries as I stand, grinning at everyone and brushing my brown hair away from my face. I scan the crowd for reactions. Most nations are either happy or completely indifferent, it seems. America looks ecstatic. No surprise, with all of his talks about “freedom” and the like. Although, it’s difficult to take him seriously when said talks are done with a burger in one hand and a diet Coke in the other. But now, I can completely understand where he’s coming from. Nothing will stop the smile on my face or my heart from fluttering in my chest after hearing those words.

Independence. It’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it?

I don’t know many countries outside of Europe, so my eyes fall upon various European nations around me. Most of them are pretty happy about it. Germany even smiled! I certainly don’t see that every day. All of my sisters, except for Serbia, seem proud, victorious even. Croatia is especially pleased, giving me a quick thumbs up during her applause. But Serbia…I hate to look over, but I can’t help it. She wears a bitter expression, because she knows there’s nothing she can do now. She can object all she likes (and she certainly did so during voting), but the rest of the world has spoken. I’m free, whether she likes it or not.

Albania, who’s right next to me, is beaming like I’m his child. After all, he was the one who suggested I become independent in the first place, and he was the only one who helped me get here. He was the one who sat with me through long nights of paperwork and planning. He was there for me from the beginning…

_“But I love Serbia. I can’t leave her now. She needs me now, more than ever.”_

_“She doesn’t love you. She only wants to reunite Yugoslavia, and to keep you away from me.”_

_“She does love me! She’s just protective, that’s all! She only wants what’s best for me.”_

_“If Serbia really wanted what’s best for you, she would’ve let you go with your other sisters. She knows you don’t like living with her.”_

_“Yeah, but-“_

_“Kosovo, please. I hate seeing her hurt you like this. You really need to become independent, to break free of your past, to start fresh. It doesn’t matter what Serbia thinks of it, it’s what you think is best for you.”_

_“…I guess you’re right. I really should. Okay Albania, where do I start?”_

I snap back to the present, still scanning the crowd, when my gaze falls upon the Italian brothers, Feliciano and Romano Vargas. Well, the latter’s name is Lovino, but everyone calls him Romano, so I call him that too. Feli seems happy, but then again, when isn’t he happy? He always seemed too nice to argue with other countries at these meetings. However, and much to my surprise, Romano is smiling alongside him.

Ah, Romano. It seemed like when that brunette wasn’t trying to piss off Germany at world meetings, he was suffering through his brother’s antics. And yet, here he is, smiling at my own achievement, even though he never met me before. And it’s genuine too, the kind of smile that can be seen in someone’s eyes.

I could feel my heart beat a little faster, if such a thing were even possible.

The rest of the meeting passes as usual, lots of arguing, little progress. I collect more paperwork to fill out, as there is still more to do in this whole process. Militaries to form and train, sports teams and organizations to create, smaller states and counties to map out…it’ll be tedious, but I’m willing to take on anything at this point.

On my way out, Albania scoops me up into a hug with ease, making me giggle. I’m pretty short, so I’m used to it by now.

“Congratulations! Ah, I knew you could do it!” he says, beaming before he puts me down.

“Thanks, but you know I could never have done it without you,” I reply, smiling back up at him.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says with a dismissing wave of his hand. “Feel free to swing by my place to celebrate! And I can help you with all that paperwork.”

“Aww, thank you, you’re too nice. But I think I can handle it.”

Albania’s face suddenly falls. “You sure? It seems like a lot for you to handle.”

“I’m pretty sure. I’m independent now, aren’t I? I need to handle this myself.”

“Yeah. I guess so,” he says with a huff before turning and leaving me.

“Thanks anyway!” I call after him. _What’s his deal? He seemed so happy before!_ I think to myself.

As I turn to walk away, I bump straight into someone, spilling papers everywhere. Oh, how typical on the first day.

“Hey! Watch-a where you’re going, you stupid-“

Romano’s voice suddenly stops when he looks into my eyes. We sit there for a few awkward moments, neither of us knowing what to say. I can feel my heart race again.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you were-a someone else. Here, let me...” His voice trails off as he finally breaks my gaze to collect the fallen papers.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Romano, right?”

“Yeah. You’re Kosovo, the new nation?”

“That’s me!” I reply with a grin.

“Hehe. Welcome to the world, Kosovo,” he says, returning my smile. He gazes at me, thoughtfully. “You seem kind of familiar, somehow.”

“Really?” I raise a quizzical eyebrow. “I don’t remember you at all.”

“Ah never mind, it doesn’t matter,” he says dismissively. He looks like he wants to say something more, when somewhere in the distance, I hear Germany yell, “FELI!”

Romano brings a hand to his head and sighs. “I have to go. It was nice meeting you though!”

“It was nice meeting you too! Bye Romano!”

“Ciao!” He runs off towards the sound of his brother’s and Germany’s voices, yelling in Italian along the way. I can’t help but laugh. He seems really nice, Romano. Nicer than most would assume.

I glance at the clock. Time to go home and rest for a bit before starting on the new paperwork.

Germany’s words ring in my ears the entire way home.

_Independent. Completely independent._

 


	2. Days Passed, Plans, and Paperwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Warning: Swear words ahead. Virgin eyes beware.
> 
> Note that this chapter is from Romano's perspective, as each even-numbered chapter will be from now on.

“FELI!” I hear Germany yell. I bring my hand to my head, almost in a face palm.

“I have to go. It was nice meeting you, though.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Romano,” Kosovo says.

I run off yelling ciao. As I do, I follow the yelling and screaming to where my brother Feliciano (aka North Italy) is running from that potato bastard, Ludwig (aka Germany).

“What the actual fuck is going on here?!” I yell as I walk into the room.

“Ve- Fratello help me please! Germany is mad at me,” he says in a panic as he runs up to me.

“Well, why is he mad at you?” I ask sarcastically. I already knew exactly why Germany was mad.

After every world meeting and all the EU meetings, they would go out to eat and Italy would always ask for pasta. Well last time, Germany said that if he asked for pasta one more time he would lose it.

“Ve- He’s mad that I asked for pasta,” Feli says, cowering behind me.

“Didn’t he tell you last time not to ask for pasta?” I ask rhetorically.

“Yeah, he did, but I really want pasta. I couldn’t help myself!” he says defensively.

Me, being a good big brother, took fratello out to get pasta and took him home. However, as I lay here in my bed, trying to fall asleep, one thing keeps me awake.

Her voice. Kosovo, the new country in the Balkans. I swear I’ve seen her somewhere before. Somewhere…

_A knock at the door. I know I’m not supposed to answer, especially not at this hour…ah, who cares? Spain wouldn’t punish me. He’s too busy with new Spain to care._

_I open the door and there stands a girl a little younger than me, but still close to my age. Well, physical age, anyway. She’s fairly short, with shoulder-length brown hair. She doesn’t look like she’s from around here._

_“May I help you?” I ask._

_“Y-y-yes, do you have any food to spare? Please,” she asks, trembling from the cold._

_“Of course. Come inside,” I say, motioning to her to follow me._

_She follows me as I lead her into the kitchen for some food. I take a loaf of bread from the pantry and hand it to the girl, which she accepts eagerly._

_“So who are you?” I ask._

_“I’m Kosovo. I’m running away from Otto,” she says._

_“Otto?”_

_“The Ottoman Empire. But my sisters and I call him Otto.”_

_“Why did you run away? Look at you. You’re all filthy and starved. Follow me.”_

_I lead her upstairs to the washroom and order a servant to start filling the tub._

_“You can take a bath here and stay here for tonight.”_

_“T-thank you mister…uh, I don’t know your name,” she says shyly._

_“Romano. Romano Vargas.”_

_“Thank you very much, Mr. Vargas.”_

_She pulls me into a hug before shutting the door._

I wake with a start, excited at my accomplishment.

“So that’s who she is!” I yell triumphantly into the still night. It’s like solving a murder mystery at page 5. It all makes sense. Same name, short, shoulder-length brunette, Turkish influences…it has to be her!

But why doesn’t she remember me?

I stay up a little while longer, formulating a plan to confront her about her past. I’ll put it into action tomorrow, if everything goes my way. Exhausted, I soon collapse back onto my bed and fall asleep.

 

I wake to my cell phone ringing and vibrating like crazy on my nightstand. Ugh, what time is it anyway? I glance over. 7:34.

“Who the hell would be calling me this fucking early?!” I yell.

I pick up the phone, ready to give the caller a piece of my mind.

“Hello, who is this?” I say.

“Hey, Romano? This is Kosovo.” So much for giving them a piece of my mind.

I immediately brighten at her voice. “Oh, hey Kosovo! What’s up?”

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“I was wondering if you could come help me with some paperwork?” she asks rather quickly.

“Um, yeah. What time do you want me to come over?”

“Could you come over around 10?”

“Does it have to be so early?” I whine.

“Yes, it does,” she responds sternly. No nonsense, I see.

“Fine, I’ll be over at 10.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then. Bye Romano.”

“Bye Kosovo.” With that, I hang up the phone. Time to put my plan into action.


	3. Food for Thought

I pull my hair back into a low ponytail and sigh. I have to stay focused. I have to get this done as soon as possible, like Germany said.

But why did it have to be so tedious?! I have to arrange job interviews for candidates for some lower government positions, organize elections for said positions, and so much more. It doesn’t help that I’m so inexperienced with this. Some of it is pretty straightforward, like setting up borders and a capital city, official languages, flags and national symbols. Those are easy enough.

However, there are much more complex matters, like organizing a court of law, and citizenship requirements.  I’ve got to determine what makes over 1.7 million people my citizens! Not only that, I need to establish tax rates, ambassadors, and find my stance on issues from around the world. At the very least, I wrote my constitution and had higher government positions filled before my independence. That was an absolute nightmare, but it was done.

The doorbell to my house snaps me out of my thoughts. I hope Romano likes the place; I did clean it before the meeting, after all. I open the door to find him whistling, hands in his pockets, staring off to the side. He quickly notices me.

“Oh, good morning Kosovo.”

“Morning, Romano. Come on in.”

I lead him over to my office and take a seat at my wooden, drawer-filled desk. He pulls up a chair and sits next to me. His eyes widen at the stacks of papers sitting at my desk.

“You still have to do all of this?!”

“Sadly, yes. UN registration papers, sports organization forms, economics…it’s all there. I’m afraid I’m not the most fluent in legal-ese. Could you help me out with some of this?”

“I’ll see what I can do. What do you need?”

“Well, joining the UN is my priority, so what should I do?”

“Oh, that’s pretty easy. First you need to fill out an application-“

“Done that already. Here,” I say, holding up couple papers from the top of the pile.

“Okay,” he continues, slightly annoyed, “then you mail it to the secretary-general, and they’ll present it to the General Assembly. If two-thirds of the Security Council believe that you can uphold the UN charter, and none of the 5 powers veto you-“

“Wait wait wait, 5 powers? Who are they? Why are they so important?”

“If you’d stop interrupting, maybe I’d tell you.” He shot me a look, and I shrunk slightly in my chair. “Anyway, China, the UK, France, Russia, and the U.S. can veto you like other nations. However, if any of them veto you, then you can’t join. They only do it if you side against them on certain issues though, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Haha, about that…”

“What did you do? Bring up Taiwan in your letter?”

“I might have.”

“Kosovo…”

“I’ll remove it! It’s fine!” I throw up my hands, defensively. “Why do I have to be a doormat to these people, anyway?”

“You’re not being a doormat to them, nobody is. You just have to be neutral, that’s all.”

“Well, I certainly feel like one,” I say while folding my arms. “May as well put ‘Welcome’ on my forehead.”

“Alright, let me put it this way. Do you really want the U.S. to come knocking on your door? Or China? Or, heaven forbid, Russia?”

The last option made me shudder. “No, I don’t.”

“Then stay neutral on certain issues, at least around them.”

“Fine.” I grab an eraser to omit my sentence or two about Taiwan.

“Ugh, this is gonna take forever,” he whines, leaning his head back and staring at my ceiling.

“As if I wasn’t aware. Now Romano, did you come here to whine or to help me?”

“Well, I already helped you, didn’t I?” he says, cracking a half-smile. I roll my eyes in response.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I didn’t see this in any official documents, but what’s a turkey farm?”

This makes him snap his head up. “A…turkey farm?”

“Yeah, in politics. I’ve heard people tell me not to set up any when I gained independence, but I have no clue what they’re talking about. What does it mean?”

He laughs a bit before he responds. “It’s just an agency or department filled with, um, less competent staff. The people there only get the job because the leader pretty much promised them one.”

I snort. “Wow. Turkey farms. So this is politics.”

“Yep.”

I chuckle a little bit before going back through the papers, searching for another task. Just as I’m about to read through a UEFA entry form, my stomach growls.

“Want some pasulj?” I ask, getting up from my chair to head to the kitchen.

“…pasulj?” Romano asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a bean soup that my sisters and I always made. You can have some for lunch if you like.”

“Sure,” he says hesitantly.

“Oh don’t be like that, it’s delicious! Plus, food helps me think.” I almost skip over to the kitchen. “We can even eat in my garden.”

That seems to win him over. “Okay then,” he says with a small smile.

 

A few minutes later, we’re sitting quietly on my patio chairs, enjoying the pasulj. The sky is almost clear, with maybe a cloud or two, but it’s a nice day overall.

“Nice weather, huh?” I comment, in hopes of striking up a conversation.

He glances at me and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

I stare at my soup, unsure at what else to say. Boy, I am _amazing_ at small talk. Thankfully, Romano manages to continue.

“So, how come you asked me for help?”

“Huh?” I look up.

“Why did you ask me over someone like, um…Albania! Yeah, I thought you would ask him. You two seem to be pretty good friends.”

“Best friends, actually.”

“Oh, is that so?” he says with a smirk.

“I know what you’re thinking, and no, I don’t like him like that. We’re just friends.” I eat some more of my pasulj in annoyance.

“Whatever you say.”

“If you’d really like to know, I asked for your help, because…well…I don’t want to be associated with him too much.”

“You just said you two were best friends.”

“I know that, I just…” I take a deep breath. This is going to take an explanation.

“For my entire life, I was always just Serbia’s little sister really. When we were living with Rome, and then Otto, we were grouped together like we were one and the same. It’s like I wasn’t any different from her, when I am. Okay, so we share some cultural similarities, but so what? I’m not just her little clone!

“When I gained independence, I thought that other countries would finally see that. But I realized that since Albania helped me so much with independence, other countries would think I’m his little puppet state, but I don’t want that either. I just want to be seen as my own country, completely separate from anyone else.”

I rest my head in one hand and put my bowl on the table in front of us. “I guess I just underestimated the amount of paperwork still left to do. And I didn’t want to crawl back to Albania, nor ask for help from my other sisters. Don’t want to be seen as their puppets either. You were my only other option.”

Romano gazes at me for a moment before saying, “Well, thank you.”

“No problem.” Am I blushing? I hope I’m not blushing.

“And who’s Otto?”

“Oh, he’s the Ottoman Empire, Turkey’s grandpa. My sisters and I lived with him for like, 500 years.”

His eyes widen. “500 years?! What were you doing at his house for 500 years?”

“Home maintenance with Serbia, usually.”

“Well, that must have been a lot of fun.” His voice drips with sarcasm.

“Ha! We worked like dogs, all seven of us. The only ‘fun’ from that was the Turkish coffee, baklava, and rebelling against him with my sisters.”

“You? Rebellious? Yeah, right.” He says with a laugh.

“Hey! It’s true!” I protest. “It’s not like we wanted to live there for 500 years. We kept making escape plans, though most of them didn’t work. Now that I think about it,” I furrow my eyebrows in concentration, “I did escape once, before we all left his house.”

“Really?” he says. All of a sudden, his voice seems genuine. He listens intently, almost hanging on to my words now.

“Yeah. I left to secure a place for all seven of us to live, far away from Otto’s house, where he couldn’t take us back. I was out there for three months, or was it four? Either way, I got captured again and sent back.”

“How’d you survive for that long on your own?” He’s leaning in, trying to catch everything.

“You know what’s funny about that?”

“What?”

“I can’t remember to save my life.”

His face falls. “Oh,” he murmurs while falling back in his chair. “I thought you would’ve remembered.”

“Are you okay? You’re kind of quiet all of a sudden.” I say.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” he says before eating another spoonful of pasulj.

“So how did you guys escape from him, anyway?” he asks.

“Oh, that?” I grin at the memory. “We became the brattiest sisters to walk the Earth.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! We had it all planned out. We knew that Turkey was fighting a bit with his grandpa, about how he didn’t really want to inherit the family legacy, he didn’t want the house and servants, wanted to be his own person, and et cetera. We knew this was stressing him out, and we decided to add to it. We staged catfights with each other, to the point where he had to intervene for almost all of them. The combined stress became too much, so when he died, we escaped, although I think Turkey would’ve let us go anyway.”

“Wow. What a bunch of evil masterminds. I should’ve done that to Spain,” he says with a laugh.

“You used to live with Spain?”

“Yeah, for most of my life. Why do you ask?” He perks up again.

“Oh, no reason.” Now that I think about it though, a little boy living with Spain does sound familiar. But why?

“Don’t you already do that to Germany?” I say.

“Oh yeah, I guess you’re right.” He chuckles at the thought.

And that’s how the afternoon continues, with jokes and some memories, under a bright, nearly-cloudless sky. I love it.

I guess I’m not as productive as I wanted to be. But you know what? I don’t care. The paperwork can wait. The sun is out. The birds will sing. And I’m having pasulj with a Sicilian in my back garden.

What’s wrong with enjoying life’s little moments?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for sticking to a schedule!


	4. Secrets?

After an afternoon of savoring the sunshine and eating some pasulj (which was amazing, by the way), I suggest we go back to doing paperwork.

“Aww, do we have to, Romano? It’s such a nice day outside! It’d be a shame to waste it indoors!” Kosovo whines.

“Yeah, we do. Plus, we can bring it out here,” I say. She seems satisfied with that, so I go in and grab the enormous stack of papers off her desk and take it out to the patio. I split the stack into political and other work, keeping the political ones to myself while she takes the rest. Although, I have to keep asking her about where she stands on issues and tweak it so it doesn’t conflict with neutrality.

4 more bowls of pasulj (which is still amazingly good) and lots of paperwork later, I check my watch which reads 10:30 p.m.

“Holy shit it’s late! Fratello’s gonna freak out,” I say a bit frantically, letting my usual hard, mean, not-caring-about-what anyone-thinks exterior fall momentarily. “I need to get home.”

“Well good luck with that, the airport closed an hour ago,” Kosovo says.

“Merida,” I curse to myself. I guess my time with Spain had more of an impact than I thought. “Well, it’s not like that matters, anyway. I came here by private plane.”

“You have your own plane?!”

“And you don’t?” I joke. Kosovo scowls in response. “Hey, I was just kidding! I don’t expect everybody to have connections like me. Geez.”

“What connections? The mafia?”

“None of your damn business.”

“I was half-kidding. So can’t you fly back, then?”

“No, my pilot checked into one of the hotels nearby and is probably asleep by now. I’d rather not fly back a few hundred miles with a pilot who’s half-asleep.”

“Touché.”

We sit in silence for a few moments. The still night air makes me shiver a bit. Finally, Kosovo’s voice breaks the stillness.

“You can stay here for tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I figured that I was going to ask you to come back tomorrow to help again anyway.” Her eyes flit away from mine to stare at the ground. “I don’t know anywhere that’s open at this hour. Do you want to?” she asks, her eyes finally leaving the ground to look at me.

“Sure, why not?” I respond. “I can continue to help for a while longer tonight, and then I’ll go to bed.”

“No, you can stop for tonight.” She says it like an offer, but in reality, it’s an order.

“Okay, that sounds fine,” I say with a yawn, realizing how tired I am.

We walk into her living room and she disappears to grab a pillow and blanket for me. When she returns, I’m already lying down on the plush couch, so she tosses both pillow and blanket to me. As I’m getting situated, she walks over.

“Everything good? You don’t need any extra blankets, or anything?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay. G’night,” she says, affectionately patting my head before her footsteps fade away upstairs.

By the time my head hits the pillow, I’m out like a light.

-The next day, at 2:17 p.m.-

“Finally! We’re done!” Kosovo exclaims as she throws up her hands.

“Actually, I’ve been done for about 20 minutes,” I retort with a smirk on my face.

“Hey, you’re not the one who has to arrange interviews with government officials.”

“Touché. Well, this was fun and all, but I better get home. Fratello must be worried,” I say while I grab my jacket and shoes.

“Ooh, you’re going home in your private jet you got from the mafia?” she says with some sarcasm.

“I told you, it’s none of your business!” I shoot her a glare from across the room.

“Whatever. Actually, it’s better that you head home now.” She glances at her watch. “Albania should be here any minute.”

“What’s Albania doing?”

“He’s coming over to pick me up and take me to his house. Apparently some pipe in his sink burst and he needs me to help replace it. Don’t know if he’d want to see you here, though.”

I could feel my hands tense up, but quickly brushed it off. “Yeah, that may not be the best idea,” I say in agreement.

As if on cue, a black Mustang pulls up into the driveway.

“Speak of the devil.” I make a run for the back door, while Kosovo follows.

“Thanks for your help Romano!” she calls with a wave. I wave back with a small smile. As soon she turns to go back inside, I scramble over the fence and book it towards the nearest hotel.

-3 hours later, back in Rome, Italy-

 _Finally home,_ I think to myself while I unlock the front door. When I step inside, I’m immediately greeted by my brother hurtling towards me at top speed. When could he run so fast? I’ve never been more terrified of my brother. Come to think of it, I’ve never been terrified by my brother.

“Romano! Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick!” Feliciano yells before giving me a bear hug, which I reluctantly return.

“I was at Kosovo’s, helping her with paperwork.”

Feli’s expression lightens a bit, back to his usual, cheery self. “Ohh, I see! You were at Kosovo’s place, the new country, right? Helping her with ‘paperwork’, huh? Don’t worry, fratello, your secret’s safe with me!” He walks away to the living room with a grin on his face.

“What the fuck? I didn’t tell you any secret!” I yell after him. “Have you been hanging out with that pervert, France?!”

He sticks his head through the doorway, his grin as wide as ever. “I can tell by the way you got all defensive. And maybe I have, fratello. Maybe I have.” He winks and walks away, leaving me dumbfounded. I stand there in shock.

 _Why the fuck was he hanging out with France?_ I think to myself as I walk up to my room. Slamming the door behind me, I flop onto my bed, somewhat tired from the flight. As I stare at the ceiling, more questions cross my mind.

_Why can’t she remember me?_

_Since when did Feli become so perceptive?_

_…Is it really that obvious?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for no Monday or Wednesday update! Writer's block sucks.  
> I typed this up Wednesday night, but it was late and I was too tired to post. But hey, it's here now, so who cares?


	5. Plumbing and Pick-Ups

I watch the empty countryside roll by through the window of a black Mustang. Any indications of a nearby city have faded by now. Mountains loom ominously in the background. I’m still not quite used to it, but for Albania, this is home sweet home.

We haven’t made much conversation since he picked me up, which is pretty odd in comparison to our previous meetings. I can feel his eyes glance over to me quite often, though. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again.

“So what have you been up to lately?” he asks.

“Oh, just filling out more paperwork and whatnot. Reading over applications, trying not to conflict with neutrality, y’know?” I respond, not taking my eyes from the window.

“I see.” He grows quiet again.

“Why are you so upset about that?” I finally tear my gaze from the window over to the driver’s seat. “I had to do it alone. I’m independent now. I’ve got to prove myself.” The first sentence brings a twinge of guilt. Beforehand, I wisely chose to leave Romano’s visit out of the discussion, but I’m starting to wonder if I regret it now. I lied to both myself and Albania about being able to do it all alone. I feel like such a wimp, crawling to another country for help so soon after I declare my own independence and try to cement my abilities.

Then I remember lunch in the back garden, and reminiscing over many bowls of pasulj in a sunny spring afternoon. And any regrets I had disappear into thin air.

Albania’s response snaps me out of my thoughts. “Well, given my current state, I would’ve liked to get out of the house.” He sighs heavily and looks over at me. “But I guess I understand what you mean.”

“Thanks. And keep your eyes on the road.”

To be fair, I understand why Albania likes to get out of his house so much. It’s…not the most comfortable of places, to put it mildly. Albania is pretty poor in comparison to most other European countries, so he usually gets the bottom of the barrel; he was lucky enough to get his car as a birthday present from Romania. He goes mining quite a lot, so there’s coal dust _everywhere_.  His soil isn’t very fertile, so nothing can grow in his yard. And it seems like Albania needs to undergo a home repair project every other week just to keep the house standing. Peeling paint, septic breakdown, broken air conditioning…you name it, he’s probably had it at some point. No wonder he likes to go to Greece’s house so much; at least the seaside view is much prettier there.

 Since I had to work with Serbia on home repairs back when we lived in Otto’s house, I became pretty knowledgeable about these sorts of repairs, so Albania calls upon me to help him out whenever he has these problems. And since he has these problems a lot, I’ve had plenty of experience. Replacing a leaky pipe under the kitchen sink would almost be child’s play.

We finally pull up to the house, or as I like to call it, “The Shack”, as I think it summarizes it quite well. The faded red paint and dull brown shingles make it look somewhat old and dilapidated, but still habitable, somehow. I hop out of the car and grab my toolbox from the trunk before following Albania inside.

Nothing’s really changed since my last visit. Worn furniture and coal dust fill each room, and the paint on the walls is faded like it is outside. When we enter the kitchen, I’m greeted by cabinets with white, peeling paint, and a tiled floor that has certainly seen some better days. When I kneel down and open the cabinet underneath the sink, I half expect spiders to jump out and scurry away, but thankfully it’s relatively clean.

“Pass me a flashlight and a wrench,” I say to Albania, who’s standing behind me with my toolbox. After some rummaging, he hands me both, and I turn on the flashlight to inspect the situation. To my surprise, the pipe that needs replaced looks incredibly conspicuous in comparison to the other pipes. I lean in, squinting. Surely it can’t be…

“Albania?”

“Hmm?”

“Why is there a metal pipe under your sink?”

“What do you mean?”

“Every pipe in here is a PVC pipe, except for this one, which I assume is the one that’s leaking.”

“Ah yes, that’s the one.”

“But why do you have a metal pipe mixed in with PVC?”

He doesn’t respond. I turn my head to look at him. He sheepishly runs a hand through his dark brown hair.

“I…may have tried to replace it myself before I called you.”

I fix him with an annoyed gaze. “You seriously tried to replace a PVC pipe with a metal one?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“…yeah.”

I sigh heavily. “Just hand me my wrench, please. And the plastic pipe, while you’re at it.” I turn my attention back to the sink and start shutting off the water valves.

 

 

“Sorry about that,” he says as he hands them to me.

“Don’t worry about it.” Grabbing the wrench, I start trying to unscrew one of the nuts, but it refuses to budge. Albania must have over tightened them, because they aren’t moving no matter how hard I turn. Defeated, I pull my head out of the cabinet and turn to Albania again.

“There should be some spray lubricant in the toolbox; can you grab it for me?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says, a grin creeping across his face.

He rummages a bit before he slowly walks over and hands it to me. “You know,” he says while gazing at the lube, “I’m a real sucker for a girl who knows how to use her equipment.” He looks to me and winks cheekily. I raise a quizzical eyebrow, but make no comment. Instead, I turn back to the cabinet and start spraying the lube. Thankfully, the nuts are a bit more cooperative and I unscrew them without much trouble.

While I keep working away under the sink, Albania whistles awkwardly and leans on the kitchen counter.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks.

“Just hand me some of the plastic fittings over there,” I respond, gesturing to a small plastic bag in the toolbox.

“Sure thing,” he says, slyly. He’s up to something, that’s for sure. After retrieving the fittings, he kneels down to my level, his face dangerously close to my ear.

“It’s a good thing you’re a plumber,” he murmurs, “because that’s not the only pipe that’s leaking.” He gets up and saunters back to the counter, looking pleased with himself. Wrinkling my nose, I quickly stand up, my wrench still in hand.

“Did you seriously say what I think you just said?” I ask.

“Maybe. What about it?” His eyes drift warily downwards towards my wrench. It seems to have sucked the confidence out of him.

“That was a little uncalled for, don’t you think?” My voice is dripping with sarcasm. I tighten the grip on my wrench.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Albania, you’re one of my best friends. But that crossed the line.” I say sardonically.

“…sorry.” His fixes his eyes upon the floor, and scratches his neck sheepishly. I can feel my heart soften a bit.

“Just don’t do it again, okay?” I ask, much more gently.

“Okay.”

Thankfully, the rest of my visit passes without incident, and the pipe is finally replaced,so the sink is now completely consistent. The ride home is filled with silence again as I watch the mountainous and empty landscape gradually turn to plains, farmland, and forests, before finally seeing my house come into view. The air grows cooler as the sun sets over the much more distant mountains.

As I unlock the front door, Albania stands on the front step, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Can I get a hug before you go?” he asks, his arms outstretched.

To be quite honest, I’m not sure if I want to, not after what he said earlier. But…he is my friend, isn’t he? It’s not that bad. Is it?

I quietly return the hug, but I try to make it quick. Waving goodbye as he drives off, I leave my toolbox by the front door and shut it behind me before flopping onto my couch in the living room. It’s been a long day.

After lying in the darkness for a couple of minutes, I finally remember to check my phone. Among the notifications illuminated on my home screen, one stands out in particular:

_1 missed call - Romano Vargas_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the upload schedule has gone out the window at this point. Whoops.


	6. The Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm going to try to get back on a schedule here. This chapter is also significantly longer than others, so have fun with that! Thanks for your patience, guys!

“Ugh, why does my idiot brother have to go to that potato bastard’s house? Now there’s nothing to do,” I say aloud as I sink deeper into an armchair. I had been infected with pure boredom ever since he left this morning. Suddenly, an idea strikes me; I’ll go over to Spain’s house and help him with growing tomatoes. After all, what else is there for me to do?

So I hop on a plane and fly over to Spain. Upon my arrival, I notice a black car in the driveway and almost immediately wince. Why, why did he have to be here today?

Prussia. The potato bastard’s albino brother.

Though, I don’t mind him most of the time. The key word is “most”. Right now, I’m really not in the mood to see any potato eating bastards, him included. I sigh to myself. I’m only delaying the inevitable at this point. As I walk in, I’m greeted by the two, who seem to have mischievous glints in their eyes. Something is definitely up. Spain looks at me funny, like I have two heads.

“What’s up with you?” I ask with annoyance.

“Romano, something seems different about you,” Spain says, squinting at me. Keeping his eyes fixed on me, he walks up to me, sniffs me, and walks around me like a judge, analyzing me carefully.

“Nope, just the same old me.” I say nervously, perhaps too nervously. I can feel myself sweat a bit under his gaze.

“Ah, you like a girl, don’t you Romano?” he says, a grin lighting up his features. The glint in his eye returns. “So, who is she, then?” He looks triumphant, like he just found the cure to cancer.

“What?! No! I don’t like anyone.” I say defensively, trying terribly to act calm. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks already.

“Romano,” he starts, one hand on his hip, the other pointing a finger at me, “don’t lie to me, I know you too well. And remember that one girl you hid in my house for months?” I nod quietly. “Well, you liked her, and you’re acting the same way right now.”

I cross my arms. “Yeah, so what? That was, like, a gazillion years ago, Spain,” I say dismissively. I certainly don’t need him to find out who I like, especially with Prussia around. If the BTT tried to interfere with my love life, I’d certainly lose it.

“Fine. I’ll just name off people ‘till I figure it out.” Spain says.

“Okay, just not around Pruss—where did he go?” I ask, looking around to find no trace of him.

“Oh, he was on his way out anyway. He must have left.”

“Alright then.”

“Liechtenstein?”

“No.”

He paused for a moment, hesitating.

“…Belarus?”

“Hell no!”

“Ukrai-“

“It’s Kosovo, okay?!” I yell, cutting him off. I exhale to regain my composure. “The girl I like, if you must know, is Kosovo, the new country in the Balkans.” I blush instantly from fear, embarrassment, and the thought of her. It made me feel all good and warm and fuzzy inside, and I didn’t really know what to do. She almost makes me want to stop cussing.

Well, almost.

“Really?” Spain says. I just nod quietly. “She’s a real looker, Romano.” I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I half-expected him to laugh, honestly.

“Yeah, well, there’s one problem though.”

“Hmm?”

“I think she likes Albania, and I sure as hell know that he likes her.” I say with a hint of defeat in my voice.

“How do you know for sure?”

“Did you _see_ the way he looked at her in the last world meeting?”

“Alright alright, point taken.”

“So what do I do?”

“You,” he says dramatically, “are going to get the girl, and I’m going to help you. Now how to get her? Hmm…” His voice trails off as his eyes become clouded in thought. Suddenly, they clear up and he faces me. “What does she like? Do you know?”

“Well, I have an idea of what she likes. When I helped her with some paperwork, she insisted that we eat outside for lunch, and then finish the rest of the paperwork outside because it was sunny. So, I’m guessing she likes nature and being outside.”

 

 

“Aha! Now I know how you’re going to get the girl!” His face lights up victoriously. “Give her a call, see if she’s free on Friday,” Spain instructs. I follow his orders without objection. Taking out my phone, I go into contacts and scroll through the long list of contacts until I find Kosovo. After hitting the call button, I hold my breath in anticipation.

_Please pick up, please pick up…_

_Riiiiinnggg…riiiiinnggg…riiiiinnggg...riiiiinnggg…your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system._ I sigh with a mixture of defeat and relief. _Please leave a message after the tone. You can hang up, or press one for more options. Beep._

“Uh, hey Kosovo! This is Romano and I had a question I wanted to ask you. If you could call me back as soon as you get this that would be great, thanks, bye.” I say quickly before hanging up and turning to Spain. “So, what happens now?”

“Now?” he says with a grin. “We play the waiting game.”

 

 

I’m suddenly awoken from a pleasant dream by my phone going off on the side table. Judging by the ringtone, I could tell it was Kosovo. I tumble off the couch, scrambling to get my phone.

Did I mention that I tend to answer my phone at the most inconvenient times?

The phone stops ringing as soon as I hit the answer button.

“Son of a-“ I mutter under my breath. I quickly scroll through my contacts and call her back.

“Oh, hey Romano,” she says, “I just called, but you didn’t pick up.”

“Uh, hey Kosovo, how are you doing?” I ask nervously.

“I’m fine, thanks. You said you needed to ask me something and to call you back, so I’m just returning your call.”

“Oh, yeah, um, Iwaswonderingifyou’dliketogotodinnerwithme?” I say in one breath. I can hear a slight chuckle from the other end.

“I’m sorry Romano, I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat it please?” she asks, politely. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

“I was wondering if you would like to go to dinner with me.” I hold my breath in anticipation, anticipating a “No thanks” or “I have plans”, some form of rejection-

“I would love to.” Did she just say yes?

“Really?”

“Yeah! What day?”

“Oh, um, Friday. I’ll pick you up Thursday and show you around Rome before dinner.” I mentally high five myself, and make a mental note to thank Spain.

“Sounds fun. I can’t wait! See you tomorrow then! Bye!” she says, and with that, she hangs up.

After a few seconds of victory, reality hits me. I had forgotten today was Wednesday. I still had to figure out what to wear on Friday and where to take her tomorrow. I figured I would take her to the Vatican City, to some museums and art galleries, and maybe even a boat ride on the Tiber River.

As I considered what to wear, Bella came down the stairs, completely ignoring me and only noticing my presence when she practically sat on me.

“Merde sainte, Romano!” Bella says as she sits next to me. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Uh, Bella? Where are your pants? And why are you wearing Spain’s shirt?” I ask in confusion.

“How do you know it’s Spain’s?” she replies, a slight blush adorning her cheeks.

“Well, considering I got him that shirt and he was weari-“ I freeze as it dawns on me. She and Spain are a thing. “Are you two…uh…you know?” I make an awkward motion with my hands, but wave it away. “Scratch that. I don’t want to know. Could you help me with something?”

“With what, Romano?” She gasps a little bit. “Is it a girl?”

“Si,” I reply, quickly and quietly.

“Knew it!” She does a little fist pump. “So, what do you need help with?”

“I really want to impress her because I’m taking her out to dinner and giving her a tour of Rome.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I also don’t know what to wear.”

“Well, for starters, who is this girl?” she inquires.

“Serbia’s little sister, Kosovo,” I answer. I couldn’t stop myself smiling at the thought of her.

_I’m sneaking out again today, into this wooded area just outside of the tomato fields where I have a makeshift house for Kosovo. It’s really just a pile of rocks and wood, but she still loves it. Every day, I bring her bread and tomatoes and we sit and talk about how we’d run our own countries. We talk about our lives and our bosses. From what I’ve gathered, she hates hers. His name is Otto. He has her sisters, Albania, and a few others, and he isn’t very nice. Although, he has a grandson, Turkey, who is nice and treats the Balkan countries with more respect than his grandfather ever did. Apparently, it’s partially thanks to him that Kosovo managed to escape._

_Over the months, I’ve noticed some things about her. Quite a few things, actually._

_I see the way her hazel eyes sparkle when she laughs or talks about her desire for freedom, and how she loves her sisters. I see how they harden when she describes what Otto puts them through. Most importantly, I see the way they soften when she looks at me._

_I notice her humility. Every time I bring her food, she’s always concerned for me and whether Spain will ever catch me and how she doesn’t want me to be punished._

_“You really don’t have to do this, Romano.”_

_“I know. But I want to.”_

_“If you keep stealing this much, Spain’s gonna catch on, you know.”_

_“It doesn’t matter.” It doesn’t matter because it’s for you._

_“I don’t want you to be hurt. Not again.” She looks worriedly at my cheek._

_“Spain isn’t going to hurt me. You left, so he doesn’t care what I do now.”_

_“Okay. As always, thank you.”_

_She’s always so concerned for me. She really cares._

_I notice how she never fails to make me smile and laugh. Sometimes, when we joke around, she’ll get up and walk around, acting all dramatically. Sometimes, it goes a little far, and maybe a sleeve rides up or her skirt blows in the wind and I see scars. Scars from Otto. My eyes widen with concern and I suddenly fear whether she’ll be caught and brought back and I’ll never see her again, and she’ll keep living with those scars and fresh new ones to take their place. And when she sees that, she kneels and places both hands on mine, and says to me:_

_“Don’t worry about me. What matters is that I’m here now.”_

_And she’ll get up and start laughing again._

_All of this combined gives me courage today. I’m telling her how I feel._

_“Uh, hey Kosovo, I have something to tell you,” I say, handing her a basket full of tomatoes and bread. I had even managed to sneak out some cheese this time._

_“Well, what is it Lovino?” she asks as she bites into a ripe tomato._

_“I like you,” I say, flatly. I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I look down at my shoes._

_“Well of course you like me, silly! Why else would you do this for me?” she says happily. Uh oh. She thought I only meant as a friend. That’s not a good sign. I clear my throat._

_“No, I **like** like you,” I say, still not looking up at her._

_“Oh.” That’s the only response I receive. Fearing the worst, I start mentally preparing myself, start to turn and leave when she pulls me into a hug._

_“Don’t worry, Romano. I like you too,” she says before pecking me on the cheek._

“Hello? Earth to Romano?” Bella calls, waving a hand in front of my face. I shake my head to snap myself out of my thoughts.

“Sorry about that,” I apologize.

“It’s fine. You really seem to like this girl.”

“With all of my heart.”

“Well then, you need to dress for success! A balance of something fun and casual, but it should also look good on you. Can you think of anything in particular?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“That’s a shame. Oh, I know! I’ll go see if Spain has something for you!” Before I can protest, she hops up the stairs to Spain’s closet. I just shake my head.

I hope that Belgian knows what she’s doing.


	7. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! My apologies for such a long hiatus. Both my co-author and I have started high school, so inspiration, motivation, and time for writing don’t often coordinate anymore. But the fic isn’t dead! We plan to keep writing, but of course we must make education our priority, so semi-regular updates will have to wait until summer. Until then, thank you for having patience with us!  
> Also, this chapter ended up to be longer than expected, so it’s split into two parts, both from Kosovo’s persepective.

As soon as I hang up with Romano, I practically squeal like a little girl. He invited me to Rome! Somewhere I’ve never been! And I get to spend time with him! The thought of it brings a smile to my face. Before I do anything else, I open my laptop, checking out some travel sites on Google. Thankfully, I find a pretty cheap flight, but I have to catch a connecting flight in Berlin. _No problem_ , I think to myself _, I need to get the documents to Germany anyway_. Afterwards, I set straight to packing, bounding up the stairs and diving into my bedroom closet. I silently browse over my clothes, contemplating what to pack. I’ll be there for maybe three days, but I figure I’ll pack five outfits in case of any emergencies. _Gah, what do I pick?_ , I think to myself. _Casual? Professional? Dressy?_ I never really had to think about this before…

In the end, I decide to aim for a careful balance between it all. For tomorrow, I decide on a peach-colored cardigan overtop a plain white shirt with blue skinny jeans, and little black flats. For dinner, I opt for a royal blue v-neck sweater, with small stars adorning the neckline, on top of a white collared shirt, with black skinny jeans and low-heel black ankle boots to match. I leave everything else as a mix-and-match between various other casual and somewhat-dressy clothes. Using the last of the little room in my suitcase for socks and underwear, I heave a sigh as I flop onto my bed, relieved to have finished some of my packing for the night. I’ll pack toiletries and the like into my carry-on bag later.

From downstairs, I can hear my phone ring. Reluctant to leave the comfort of my bed, I grudgingly get up and head back downstairs to take the call. My eyes widen in surprise and confusion as I look at the contact. Why would Serbia call me, of all countries?

Hesitating, I finally answer the call in her native tongue. “Zdravo?”

“Zdravo,  Kosovo. Kako si?”

“Dobro, dobro. I vi?”

“Ja sam dobro.”

There’s an awkward pause. Finally, she says, “What have you been doing lately?”

“Mostly paperwork. Speaking of which,” I pause as I remember my task, “I need to get that delivered to Germany on my way…”

“On your way? Where are you going?”

“To Rome, to see a friend.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I facepalm. I’ve already said too much, and now I’ll have to explain to Serbia, who was protective enough when I was living with her…

“Oh, Rome is lovely. I hope you enjoy it.” Her response takes me by surprise, but I shake it off.

“Thank you. So, why did you call?” I highly doubt Serbia just wanted a friendly chat at this point, especially after the events of the last world meeting.

“Well, you see, after the world meeting in Berlin, I decided to travel around Europe for a bit. I figured I wouldn’t have much business to do for the next couple days, so some sightseeing would be fun. I was just in Munich, and I decided to fly down to Athens and visit Greece. And, well…” I can hear her sigh through the phone. “We had to make a pit stop in Pristina because the plane needed repairs, and my flight has been delayed until tomorrow. And I’m not particularly thrilled about my hotel options.”

I can feel the tension grow thicker. I decide to cut it, although a bit nervously. “Would you like to stay at my place?” I ask.

“If it isn’t any trouble for you. I’m only here for tonight, and I’ll leave for Athens tomorrow. I don’t want to delay your trip.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. My flight for Berlin doesn’t leave until 10:30 tomorrow, and the airport is pretty close.”

“I should be gone long before then. Mnogo vam hvala, Kosovo. I’m very grateful.”

“Should I pick you up from the airport?”

“No no, I’ll call a cab and walk the rest of the way to your house. Just leave me the address.”

“Okay then, I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright. And thank you, again.”

“It’s no problem.”

“Vidimo se.”

“Vidimo se.” And with that, I hang up and send Serbia my address. Thankfully, the guest room is clean for her arrival. Still, I feel so weird letting her stay here after leaving her. If the tension over the phone felt thick, then it would be rock solid when she got here. But still, I have to be hospitable, don’t I? And sisters have to look out for each other. Trying to avoid second-guessing myself, I continue with packing my carry-on luggage. Once that’s done, I pull out my phone and text Germany, hoping to arrange something with him.

_Hey Germany, I finished the documents you needed_

_Sehr gut! Have you mailed them to me?_

_No, I think I could actually give them to you in person  
I’m flying to Berlin tomorrow because I have a connecting flight to Rome_

_I see  
When is your flight?_

_My flight leaves at 10:30, so I should be there around 12:45  
My flight for Rome leaves about an hour later so I don’t have much time_

_I can’t get them, I’m in a meeting at that hour tomorrow  
Perhaps Gilbert could retrieve them?_

_I think that could work_

_Excellent, I’ll tell him now_  
_He’ll wait for you at your gate, holding up a sign with “Kosovo” on it_  
_That, or just look for the red-eyed, silver-haired man_

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Does Prussia really look like that? Oh well. At least I’ll recognize him easily.

_Ok, my flight for Berlin leaves at gate B23_

_Alright, I’ll let him know_

_Thanks for helping me out!_

_No problem, enjoy your trip!_

I smile to myself. That was easier than I thought it would be. I head downstairs and into my small office. Eyeing the stack of papers on my desk, I arrange them neatly and clip them inside a binder, which I then carefully pack away into my carry-on bag. All set. I pull up a chair and tiredly take a seat. Now to wait for Serbia…

A knock at the door rouses me from my nap, which I don’t remember taking in the first place. Grumbling to myself, I trudge over to the door, opening it to reveal a weary-looking Serbia, with a suitcase behind her back. Her hair is pulled up into a bun, which is somewhat odd for her. She only wears it like that for meetings. More formal, I suppose. She wears a forest-green pencil skirt and a matching suit jacket, a small pin of the Serbian crest attached on her breast. Her appearance wakes me up almost immediately, and I instinctively stand at attention. How does she still manage to intimidate me, even when I don’t live under her roof?

“Zdravo, Kosovo. May I come in?” Serbia asks, tiredly.

“Of course. Shall I get your bags?” I ask, gesturing to the suitcases behind her.

“Ne ne, I can take care of them, thank you.” With that, I step out of the doorway and let her walk through. Her eyes roam around my living room, taking in the details. I silently thank my lucky stars that the house is relatively clean. Gesturing for her to follow me, I lead her upstairs and into the guest room in awkward silence. She leaves the suitcases in the room and walks back downstairs, carefully sitting on my couch. She sits up straight and stiffly, like she’s the nervous one, somehow.

“Do you want a drink, or something to eat?” I try my best to be polite. ”I’ve got still got a little leftover pasulj in the kitchen if-“

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” she cuts me off, tension in her voice.

“Okay then,” I reply with annoyance, taking a seat in an armchair beside the couch. Taking a breath to regain composure, I try again. “So, how was Munich?”

“Oh, it was great.”

“What did you see?”

“Ah, I saw the Olympic stadium and the Allianz Arena. In fact, the Allianz was lit up beautifully at night.” She smiles to herself. A good sign. “And Neuschwanstein Castle was beautiful.”

“Did you meet Ludwig while you were there, or..?”

“No, he stayed in Berlin after the meeting.” Serbia pauses, then adds quietly, “I did meet his brother though.”

“Really? I’ve never met his brother. What was he like?”

She frowns. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you sure? What happened? Did he-“

“I _said_ ,” she repeats, with an edge to her voice, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“My apologies, Nikola,” I mumble. She sighs quietly and responds, “It’s alright.”

After another tense silence, she speaks again. “You said you were going to Rome, correct?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you mind me asking why?” I glance at her face. She looks much calmer now, much less nervous than before. “I’m only curious.”

I think carefully before giving my response. “To see a friend.”

“Which friend?” I choose not to reply. I don’t need Serbia interfering with my love life.

“Answer me, Adelina,” she says firmly, almost like a command. I remain silent. She sighs and puts her head in one hand. “You know I can’t stop you from seeing him. I won’t approve of it, but if you really love him, then go.”

I freeze. “H-how did you know?! I never said anything about him!”

She looks at me skeptically. “Why else did you sneak out to see him? And now that you’re independent, you two decided to go somewhere different for a change. It’s pretty obvious, really.”

It takes all my self control not to burst out laughing. “You thought I’m in love with Albania?”

Her face falls. “You aren’t?”

“No!” I yell defensively. “He’s just a friend, Nikola! That’s all!”

“Then why did you..?” Her voice trails off. After a moment, she shakes her head and sighs with relief. “Hvala Bogu.”

I chuckle a bit and shake my head. “Albania, of all countries…” My mind flies back to the pick-up lines at his house and I shiver. _Should I tell her about that?_ I wonder to myself. Before long, I decide against it. _No way, she’ll go berserk if she finds out._

“I’m glad that you aren’t, but I still wanted to talk to you about something.” I look up again. She seems genuinely concerned now, her hands on her knees, leaning towards me. I can’t look away now.

She takes a deep breath before she begins. “Since you are…well…independent, at least in the eyes of most countries, you’re obviously in control of more than before.” She frowns before continuing. “This includes your relations with other countries, which can range from allies to enemies, and even to romantic partners. Kosovo…” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it. “I want you to listen to me. Take this from your sister, okay?” I nod. “I want you to be very careful about who you get involved with. There are many countries that you could fall in love with, but some might make better partners than others.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I want you to love somebody who treats you with respect, and loves you for who you are. Kosovo, there are many countries in this world who will respect you and be kind, but some might not see you that way.”

I scoff. “Let me guess. Is Albania one of those countries?”

“Precisely.”

I sigh in annoyance. “Look, he helped me, but I don’t plan on doing him any special favors.”

Serbia stares at me. “Did you ever stop to wonder, perhaps why he wanted to help you?”

I blink. Now that she mentions it, it never occurred to me why he bothered. I guess I really was desperate. “No.”

She draws a deep breath. “Kosovo, I’m going to make a long story short. This was a while before I started caring for you the other sisters. Long before then, I was…” She pauses nervously and shudders. “I was with Albania.”

My jaw drops and I stand up from the chair. “WHAT?! How?! You hate him!”

“I told you, it’s a long story, and not one that I’d like you to tell to others.” Serbia eyes me pointedly and I sit back down. She puts a hand on her nose and breathes heavily through it, like she always did when her patience was being tried.

“Back before we were united as sisters, I was wandering the Balkans as a lonely little country, like you and the others. At this point, I had a relatively stable house to live in. I decided to go for a hike in the mountains, and I met him there. He was dirty, filthy, alone, and begging me to help him out because he couldn’t grow food where he lived. So I agreed and took him back to my house. I wanted to teach him how to farm and help him gain some strength, get back on his feet. But he had other ideas.” She stares down at the floor.

 “I’d give him resources, but he kept taking from my own. I even explicitly told him that I knew he was stealing, but every time he did, he gave me a sort of puppy-eyed look and went on about how he was so poor and needed to feed his people and that he’d _promise_ he’d only stay a little longer. I felt trapped in my own home. It was sickening,” she adds with an edge of anger to her voice. “Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I broke it off and kicked him out. He swore revenge upon me, and tried to fight me to take my house, but I won that.” Her voice softens a bit. “A while after, I met you. And then I realized that you can trust some countries more than others.” A pained expression flickers across her face as she lifts her eyes to mine, but she quickly masks it. I sit and stare in shocked silence.

“My point is, Kosovo,” she says after a long silence, “I really don’t think you can trust him. He doesn’t love you, Kosovo. He’s the same way he was when he was with me. He only wants your land and resources. Nothing more, nothing less.”

I sit in silence. _But I thought he was my friend. How could someone help me like this, yet be so cruel?_

“Please, Kosovo. I know you probably don’t trust me anymore, but I’m begging you, be careful around him!” she pleads, tears coming to her eyes. I can feel my heart break at the sight. I’ve never really seen Serbia cry, except when she missed our sisters. This is serious.

I take her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “I will, I promise you.” And I mean it.

 


	8. Old Friends, Part B

After some thought, I feel like I owe her the truth. After all, she did tell me about her past love life. So she has the right to know about my present one. “Romano.”

Serbia blinks in confusion. “Huh?”

I feel the heat rise through my cheeks. “I’m going to Rome to see Romano. He invited me.” I silently wonder if I regret saying that. I can already see Serbia yelling about how she doesn’t want me to go. To my surprise, realization dawns on her face.

“Oh, Romano! It’s been a while since you mentioned him.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” she asks as she looks at me in wonder.

I chuckle awkwardly. “What am I supposed to remember, exactly?”

“You remember the time you briefly escaped from Otto for a little bit?” I nod. “Well, while you were out you fell in love with this kid Romano, and when Otto retook you and brought you back, you told me and the rest of the family all about him.” Serbia gives me an exasperated look. “Seriously, it was a little sad at times. I’d see you looking wistfully out the window, longing for _him_ , or at least I assumed. But a while after that, you stopped talking about him.”

For somebody to be so significant in my life, I don’t really understand how I could forget, much less how my own sister would remember better than myself. But the whole idea of falling for Romano before seems too foggy to be real. I thought I just lived in a little house out in the woods for a few months. Didn’t I?

I shake my head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. At all.” Serbia seems unamused. Without a word, she rises from the couch, turns on her heel, and marches into the kitchen. I follow close behind, bothered by how she walks like she owns the place. For now, I’ll keep that in the back of my mind. She throws open the fridge door and starts rummaging through my drawers. Finally, she produces a ripe, red tomato and presses it into my hands.

“Does that ring a bell?” she asks, slightly mocking my earlier response. My eye roll may indicate the contrary, but now that I think more about it, the tomato does make things seem more familiar…

_I slip in through a low window in the basement. I know he must be around somewhere…I can’t drop these tomatoes. I picked the best ones for him, after all._

_“Kosovo!” he whisper-shouts, his eyes wide with fright. “What are you doing here?”_

_“I brought you these!” I stumble over to him and shove the tied-up white bundle into his hands. He peeks inside. It’s filled with the reddest, ripest, and overall best tomatoes I could find in the fields._

_“You didn’t have to do this for me…” he says, shaking his head._

_“But I wanted to.” I smile. Suddenly, we hear some light-hearted singing from the top of the stairs._

_“Merda! He’s coming down!” Before I can reply, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into a nearby pantry, shutting the door behind him just as we hear the singing descend the stairs. Thankfully, he thought to take the bundle with him and still holds it in his left hand. He still has my wrist in his right. And even though I’m not the tallest person around, this pantry feels pretty small._

_It seems like he realizes how close we are too. Before long, he leans forward a bit, so close that our breaths intermingle. He stares at me, nervous, a little hesitant. Then, his eyes flutter closed and he presses his lips to mine. Without thinking, I kiss him back._

_After a while (but not nearly long enough), we hear the song floating back up the stairs. He reluctantly pulls back. I smile and murmur breathlessly, “Volim te.”_

_He looks confused. “What does that mean?”_

_I chuckle a little. “It means ‘I love you’.”_

_He smiles broadly in return. “Ti amo anch’io.”_

I relate all this to Serbia. She looks triumphant. “So it _was_ Romano.”

“You still don’t know that for sure. I still can’t remember his name, or what he looked like to save my life.”

“So? He spoke Italian to you, and you brought him tomatoes. You know how he is about tomatoes. Plus, the guy singing was probably Spain.”

I shrug and put the tomato back in the fridge. “Well, maybe. I don’t know, it could’ve been some boy in the Italian countryside for all we know.”

“Whatever. I’m pretty sure it was Romano.” She yawns. “I’m getting kinda tired of discussing this anyhow, and it’s getting late. I’m heading for bed.” She walks out of the kitchen and starts up the stairs before looking at me again. “Although, I’d certainly trust Romano more than you-know-who. Just remember what I said.” With that, she disappears. After such a long day, I follow her lead and turn in for the night.

 

 

The next morning goes smoothly, more than I expected. Neither of us mentions last night’s conversation until we’re at the airport, and Serbia has to leave for Athens. We hug each other, and she kisses my cheek in her big-sisterly way and mutters, “Remember what I said about him.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” With that, we go our separate ways.

A couple hours later, I walk around Berlin Tegel Airport, my binder being tucked away safely into my carry-on. After I make it to my departure gate, I quickly scan the faces to find some silver hair and red eyes. So this is Ludwig’s brother. Why would Serbia meet with him, of all people? Ah well, it doesn’t matter.

I walk up to him and wave. “Hi! You’re Gilbert, right?”

He looks down awkwardly. “…yes?”

I clear my throat. “Um, I’m Kosovo, Serbia’s younger sister?”

“Oh!” Recognition crosses his face for a split second before turning into a smirk. He stretches out a hand. “Ze awesome Prussia, pleasure to meet you.” I take it politely and shake. “You know, you look an awful lot like your sister.”

“Really?” I ask. Aside from my short stature, shoulder length hair and hazel eyes, we do look alike. I make a mental note to do something about that.

“Ja, I met her in Munich recently, don’t know if she told you.”

“Actually, she did.” I reach into my suitcase.

He suddenly perks up. “Really? What’d she say?”

“Oh, she didn’t want to talk about it,” I say as I pull out the blue binder with my papers.

“Oh, okay,” he says, a little defeated. Did he actually seem disappointed about that? How strange.

I hand him the binder. “Here are the papers. Please, _please_ get these to your brother as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” he says, taking it and tucking it under one arm. “It’s safe with me.”

“It better be.” I smile at his slightly wary look as he leaves the gate. As I sit around and wait for my flight, my phone dings and I look down. A text from Albania. I groan inwardly but decide to take a look.

_Hey there :)_

Well, that seems nice enough. I’ll respond.

_Hey, what’s up?_

_Not much, you?_

_Waiting in Berlin for a flight_

_Ooh where you going_

_Rome_

_Without me? :(_

I frown. He really has seemed clingy lately. First the paperwork business, then the hug, and now this. I don’t want to be too hard on him, but this getting annoying, and a little discomforting.

_I was invited by an old friend of mine_

There. I mean, it is kind of true, isn’t it? Well, I don’t think so, but Serbia certainly feels strongly about it. Either way, it’s a good excuse.

_Hehe well have fun ;)_

After that, I think it’s over. Then I receive this from him:

_Did you see who took them?_

I quickly respond.

_Took what?_

_Oops, wrong person, ignore that_

Perhaps I’m being a bit nosy, but why would he send that? And to whom? Oh well, I doubt it matters. I’m probably just being paranoid.

 

I doubt I’ve ever felt more anxious in my life. Anxious to get my papers delivered, anxious to see Romano…it’s got butterflies in my stomach, that’s for sure. But at least all is well. The flight is only a couple of hours, but I figure I may as well turn on my data and quickly check my phone.

As soon as it’s turned on, a notification flashes on the screen:

_1 New Message: Ludwig Beilschmidt_

Ah, good. He must have received the papers. I open up his message.

_I received your papers, but I need to meet with you._

Huh, that’s odd. I text back:

_Why?_

_I’ve skimmed through them a bit, and the handwriting between  
these documents and the ones you sent before seem to be different._

_Really?_

_Yes, are you sure these are the correct papers?_

I feel my chest tighten. _Calm down, calm down, everything will be fine,_ I think to myself. I take a deep breath.

_I’m absolutely sure; I had them in a blue binder  
 and gave them to Gilbert like we agreed_

_This binder isn’t blue, it’s red._

My heart nearly stops at the words. My papers have been intercepted and swapped; and all the clues seem to be pointing to one source. Suspicious text, wondering where I am, even the red color…but how? How would have known that I was exchanging papers in Berlin? I never mentioned it to him before, and I had only texted him that I was here an hour ago. Nobody could get from Tirana to Berlin in under an hour. Unless Gilbert really took his time getting home, there’s no way he could’ve swapped the binders.

I start to feel light headed. With a shaky hand, I sip my Coke and try to think of a way to make sense of all this. Suddenly, Ludwig messages me again:

_Are you still in Berlin?_

_No, I’m on a flight to Rome_

_Perhaps I could meet with you when I come back_

_Yes, I can arrange that. When are you returning?_

_In a couple of days, I’ll let you know_

_Okay, I’ll free up my schedule for you._

_So sorry about all this._

_It’s okay, I’ll manage somehow_

I take another shaky sip and turn off my data and phone. Oh Bože, what am I going to do? If I don’t get my papers back, I can’t be independent. I’ll have to live with Serbia again.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it with the back of my hand. _Good nations are strong_ , I think. _Good nations will fight for what they believe in_. _And I will fight for those papers._

The thought resounds in my head for the rest of the flight.

Because without those papers, I may never be a nation.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic won't be updated regularly, due to, y'know, high school and what not. But it will be updated nonetheless!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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